Ink (The Haven Series) (43 page)

Then holding it steady, he dipped a finger in the little lick of fire. He never flinched, but the smell took him back.

FLASHBACK

The acrid smell of burning flesh filled the old warehouse, battling for dominance with the agonised screams of pain. Will blocked it all out. Or at least appeared to in front of his brothers.

He may have lost the vote to take the life of the bitch who betrayed his club but, blood or not, she still had to pay. Not even the softest heart could deny that and his men were the furthest thing from soft. Even those who had opted to spare her. Despite the anger still burning inside him, he knew that.

Banishment would be the alternative. Life-long. She could go wherever she wanted, but she had to get out of the state and stay the hell away from the club. Every charter would be a cold-house as far as she was concerned. No contact, all ties severed. And that would take some ... erasing.

If Colton had been there, he could have simply blacked out her ink. But he wasn’t and Will wasn’t waiting any longer. Any shred of patience he’d had, and it had never been much lately, was gone. So it was either knife or fire. She didn’t get to make the choice.

A patch called Bug - short for Firebug, given his particular proclivities - wielded the blowtorch. Sam, grim-faced and silent, held her down. Will watched him and knew the sergeant was, despite everything, practically biting his tongue off to keep from trying to soothe her.

Her arm was first. Battle born. The words had been scrawled in delicate, feminine cursive across her inner elbow since the day she turned eighteen. It was ironic really. In the end, she’d live by that mantra much more fully than any of them. Even as outlaws, they had their own moral code - laws to live by. And she’d flown in the face of that, fighting them every step to get her own way.

The screams hadn’t lasted long.

Obliterating the soft skin of the underside of her arm hadn’t taken long, even being as thorough as Bug was. Then, with a slash of a knife and strong hands ripping, her top was torn from the neckline down and her back exposed to reveal the large silver star behind her shoulder. Two blasts of the blowtorch and the crying shrieks escalated, only fading when, slumping forward, she blacked out. Only Sam hauling her lifeless body upright prevented her from smashing her face on the unforgiving concrete floor.

Bug looked to the president for orders.

“Finish it, then get her gone,” Will shrugged, already heading for the double doors. “Dump her ass outside the nearest hospital. She ain’t our problem no more.”

The silence outside under the stars was a relief.

***

Hours had drifted into days before gray eyes flickered open and quickly closed again against the pain.

It felt like she’d been hit in the chest by a truck and her throat was too raw to bear swallowing. That sent hazy memories stirring in the clouds of her mind – vague images of briefly waking up to an overwhelming choking sensation, enough to make her panic, before a figure in a white coat had eased a tube from her throat. Ice chips against her lips were the last thing she had been aware of before the blackness washed over her again.

This time though, that almost blissful darkness was slipping further away and leaving only room for the hurt. That and the feel of strong fingers wrapped around hers.

“Callie?” came a rough, tired-sounding voice. “Shit, I think she’s waking up again – go get that fucking doctor back in here.
Now!
”

More memories. Flooding back this time. Relentlessly. Another figure - one dressed in black. His face hidden as he snarled low threats and curled a hand around her throat. Making it hard to breathe, just like the tube. She’d tried to fight, remembered her attacker’s agonised howl. But the flash of a blade had caught her off-guard ...

She tried to sit up, her hands fisting in the sheets when a fresh sliver of pain lanced through her. The little cry it pulled from her only tore at her already abused throat and added to her suffering. But even that didn’t compare to the cold terror already building inside. Someone had come after her. She didn’t know who, but she knew he would come back. Her heart was racing, thumping hard. Too hard. It hurt to breathe.

She had to get out, had to get away.

Those strong fingers slipped to her wrists and tightened, making her flail weakly against being held down.

“No, sweetheart, no,” that same voice said, the tiredness replaced by urgency. “Gotta take it easy or you’re gonna pull some of this shit out ... Just lay back, lay back for me. Come on, baby, it’s okay - you’re safe. Promise.”

She stilled. “C-Colton?”

The name came out in a hoarse whisper and she was already slumping back against the pillows with the effort, but the hands that had been holding her drifted to caress her pale face and dark eyes roved over her.

“Callie … Jesus, I ain’t ever been so fucking glad to hear my damn name,” he managed. “I got ya, little girl. I got ya.”

***

It was hard to remember now that there had once been a time when he’d had it all. The patch, the old lady on his arm, and his little girl on his lap. He’d never chased any of it but, when it found him, he’d fought hard to keep what he had. Maybe that was where he went wrong. He’d closed his hands so tight around what he held dear that he’d crushed the life out of it. Killed it dead and now it was all either gone or slipping away.

His baby daughter outed as a rat and out of his life, as good as dead, his now ex-wife probably screwing around behind some other sap’s back and his club ... threatening to fracture beyond repair. He knew what it said about him as a father and a husband that the latter was the worst of it.

But the club came first. Always had, always would. That was why he knew he couldn’t let it be torn apart. Not because of him and his blindness.

Sam was right. He’d let Taylor, and her mother before her, twist him up inside until he couldn’t see straight. He’d managed to convince himself that Callie was just like them – manipulative, devious, out for what she could get. And all despite actually liking her at first, thinking she might even be good for one of his most trusted brothers. He’d let his heart overrule his head. What the hell use was a president who did that?

Not that it would be an issue for long.

A knife to the chest, courtesy of that dumb fuck he’d recruited out of desperation. Even if the girl was tougher than she looked, she was still only a little thing and sure as hell wasn’t made of steel. And Sam was right again. If she died, Colton would come after whoever was responsible. Even if she didn’t, he would still come.

Dragging on the cigar he’d lit absently, Will tilted his head back and exhaled a long, slow stream of fragrant smoke before breathing it back in through his nose. He couldn’t blame the man, but he couldn’t let it happen. Not to save his own skin though, no matter how it sounded. But he could see with absolute clarity how it would all play out – how his death at the hands of a brother would rip the club he’d worked so hard to keep whole, wide open. And a wound like that would never heal.

With the cigar clamped between his teeth, he pulled his
gun from its holster and eyed it as the pieces of his only solution slowly slid into place in his mind.

Once more, he’d do what was needed. For his club.

***

She wasn’t out of the woods by a long shot, but a corner had been turned. The danger was no longer immediate and the iron band that had wrapped itself around Colton’s chest eased up just a fraction.

He didn’t give a shit if it was frowned upon, he’d given up on the chair by her bed in favour of toeing off his boots and easing himself down beside her. Taking every care to make sure he wasn’t risking pulling out an IV or adding to her pain, he let his body practically cradle hers, propped on one elbow to watch over her as she slept again. He needed the closeness and it just wasn’t enough to settle for holding her hand.

He’d been convinced he was losing her. He’d never forget how that felt.

She stirred in her sleep, tension written over her face as she whimpered, but didn’t wake.

“Easy, girl,” he said, keeping his voice low and as calm as he could, given the waves of anger that still kept hitting him every time he was reminded of what she’d been put through. His hand soothed gently over her hair and down her arm to her hip. “Just me. Ain’t no one gonna hurt
you. I’m staying right here ...”

Although she settled back down into a deeper sleep, he sighed guiltily at the blatant lie. He wasn’t staying. He couldn’t. Now he knew he wasn’t seconds from watching her slip away from him, there was something he had to take care of – something that wouldn’t keep.

But for just a little bit longer, he was sticking close. Making the most of her while he could, before Sketch prepared to try putting her on that plane as soon as she was fit to travel – and before he prepared to let him.

***

“Sam ... What you doin’ here, man?”

“What’s with the jumpy greeting, dude?” the sergeant asked, an easy-going smile on his face as he stood on the doorstep of the dingy little house. “You expecting someone else?”

“N-no,” came the stammered response. “Uh, you wanna come in? I ain’t exactly keeping a palace here ...”

“So I see.”

Stepping over the threshold, the biker lowered the hood of his dark sweatshirt and shouldered his way past his reluctant host, making his way into a tiny living room littered with pizza boxes and empty beer cans. “Guess we keep you too busy cleaning up round the garage, Trey,” he commented, giving a stack of the boxes a light kick with the toe of his boot. “Not exactly domesticated, are ya?”

“Need to ... get myself an old lady, I guess,” the hangaround said, trying an uneasy smile.

“I’d settle for a cleaner. I hear they’re cheaper. How’s the hand?”

“Huh? Oh ... Uh, fine, I guess. Teach me to be more careful ...” he said, clutching the injury to his chest and looking down at it - missing the look that crossed Sam’s face.

“How deep did it go?”

“What?”

“The chisel,” Sam shrugged patiently. “How deep did it go? It ain’t a through-and-through, is it? ‘Cause you know who you should show if it is? Colton. Dude loves shit like that. Hey, you could make it a party trick – shoving shit in there, ya know? Like ... fuck, I dunno ... a pencil?”

He hadn’t expected it to be so easy. But, as if it were the magic word, one mention of that goddamn pencil and those eyes were widening, the face paling and then the babbling started. Sam’s hand shot out and wrapped around his throat. He might have felt almost sorry for the poor bastard who'd only been following orders and was probably shit-scared of refusing, but he'd still
 stabbed that pretty little blonde ...

“Shut the fuck up,” the sergeant seethed darkly. “I know exactly how this fucked-up shit went down, I don’t need to hear your excuses, you pathetic little runt. Scare you, did she? The little girl with a fucking
pencil
?”

“I ... I didn’t mean to! She ... she attacked me – but I never meant to really hurt her. You gotta believe me!”

“I don’t gotta do anything. And trust me, I’m saving your ass here. Probably literally. ‘Cause if Colt had got to you first, he’d be shoving his knife in every hole you got. And a few you don’t.”

“You ... You’re saving me? Jesus Christ. I ... I dunno what to say. Shit. I mean, th-thank you. I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll make sure you don’t regret it, I’ll--”

Sam’s arm snaked around the back of his head even while he was speaking and Trey never even guessed what was coming, as one hard jerk and a sharp crack sent him lifeless to the floor.

“You’re welcome.”

***

CHAPTER 50

He was no fucking coward. He knew there would be whisperings, maybe even more than that. But he knew it made sense and that was all that mattered. Besides, he’d pictured himself ending up like Taylor – with the golden eagle on his back distorted under layers of scar tissue – and his damn pride had decided this was the lesser evil.

Even now though, while he knew he’d fucked up over Callie, he was still clinging stubbornly to the unshakable fact that his intentions had been pure.

He hadn’t been looking to straight up kill her and he hadn’t gone looking for gratuitous violence against her. Just enough to test her mettle and make sure she wasn’t a risk to his club.That was all he’d needed. That was a president’s
job
after all.

All the rest was white noise now. An unforeseen curveball. He was a leader – he wasn’t a goddamn psychic.

But he wasn’t denying he’d gotten it wrong and catastrophically so, as far as the future of the club was concerned. But righting wrongs was in his job description, so no sweat. This was on him and he accepted that.

This wasn’t about him denying Colton vengeance, taking the easy way out. This was just him putting his faith in the right people for a change. Turning to some hangaround had been a big error of judgement. He knew the men he could trust,
and had known it for more years than he cared to think about.

So he should have trusted them when it came to the girl, just like he was trusting them to pick up the pieces.